Dear Emily

Well, the time has come, and I’m one sentence into this and already sobbing. You bitch.

I guess I just don’t know how to say goodbye to my best friend. I know, I know, there’s that bullshit line “It’s not goodbye, it’s see you later.” But it is a goodbye. It’s a goodbye to a woman I’ve known she she was a fetus. It’s goodbye to the baby I fed a bottle to while watching Sesame Street. It’s goodbye to the person who knows me better than anyone else in this world. It’s goodbye to the one person who can simultaneously piss me off one second and make me hug her the next. It’s goodbye to my sister, my roommate, my best friend. Things will never be the same again. We’re growing up. Well, at least you are. I’m not quite ready for that just yet.

We’ve been through so many ups and downs over the years. We played dolls, Barbies and made crafty messes around the house. You might not remember this, but one time I threw a book you wanted to look at across our bedroom. It hit you in the face and you had a nose bleed. Oops.

You used to be that bratty little sister who always copied me or just didn’t understand my life because you were so young. You were the little sister who wrote funny stories like “My brother sits on me and it hurts,” or, “I’ve got the goosebumbs.” You will ALWAYS be 8-years-old in my mind. ALWAYS. And I will never let you live down the time you tried to school me and Andy with your geographical prowess, “It’s Nova Scot-tia, DUH!”

It wasn’t until you were an upperclassman in high school that we got close again. We could talk about boys, the stupid things I was doing in college and the stupid things you were doing in high school. Then there was that dark and dreary time in your late teens/early twenties. You know what I’m talking about. We lost touch, and it was one of the hardest times of my life. I thought I had lost you forever. And then, then you came back to us. You came back to me.

We started a new chapter as roommates in quite possibly the coolest flat on the east side. We spent the first night in our new home drinking margaritas in my bed while watching FRIENDS on my computer. You finally got to experience those crazy college years most of us get out of our systems when we’re 20.

We had rotisserie chicken. Remember? You don’t? Let me remind you.

We made that house our home. We’d cuddle up on the couch under blankets because we were too cheap to turn the heat above 58. We’d hold hands and giggle while watching GLEE. We’d strategize about how we’d kick ass at “The Amazing Race” (Which, BTW, we WILL win someday. We just have to audition first).

We would yell at each other, going from one sentence of “Fuck you” to the next “I love you.” It’s the kind of relationship only sisters could have.

We’ve had so many amazing times over the last two years. Here are some pictures to remind you of some of my favorites.

And now, you’re leaving. You’re moving on to the next big chapter in your life. A new city, a new home, a new state. I couldn’t be happier for you whilst simultaneously wanting to do everything in my power to get you to stay.

Who am I going to have spontaneous dance parties in the living room with? Who’s going to be there at home to give me a high five when I come back from a run? Who’s going to make tacos and burp unabashedly? Who else could I run a 5k with, only to get lost and make our own?

What’s Beep going to do when she can’t hide out on your comfy bed, or snuggle with Auntie Em on the couch?

I don’t know how to say goodbye, or how to tell you just what you mean to me. If you could see me now, you’d probably make fun of me for the ugly cry I got going on. I know I would if the roles were reversed.

Don’t be a stranger. I will answer your phone calls. I promise. And you know how much I hate to talk on the phone. But I will answer your call anytime, any day.

I fucking love you, you stupid bitch. I’m gonna miss your face. But then, I’ll look at that ugly ass picture of you and your hamster from when you were 8. And I’ll laugh. Actually, I’ll probably snort-laugh. Cuz that’s how I roll.

Love,
Amy

PS. This. Oh and this.

PPS. There’s still frosting on the passenger’s side door and seat from when you dropped your goodbye cake last weekend. Feel free to clean it up before you go.

 

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